B Blood
by Banisters
Summary: Being the only Red Sox fan in New York City is alright if you have B blood...or a best friend. [Written for this so called Blink Week thing]


I'm a Red Sox fan. That's just the way I was born. As a baby, when all the other drooling newborns wore generic visors and hats, I proudly wore my faded blue hat with the red "B" on it. When all the other toddlers stumbled around their backyards, tripping over their toys, I was romping through Fenway Stadium. At age seven, when all the other kids were arguing over the last Oreo, I was debating with my teacher that the Red Sox were better than the Yankees.

I had that team in my blood. I had **Boston** in my blood. So when I moved to New York, you can imagine the chaos I had to deal with. People expected me to convert to a Yankees fan. But hey, since when can you change your blood type? Right. You **can't**.

No one seemed to understand that. They saw me as an idiot for wearing my hat while I strolled through SoHo. They saw me as a loser as I cheered "LET'S GO RED SOX!" while watching a game with my friends. They saw me as a loner. A single drop of B blood in an ocean full of Yankees.

But then Mush showed up. You know how they say that a shark can smell a **single drop of blood in an entire ocean?** That's what Mush was. He was the shark who swam against the current to find me. Mush liked the Red Sox, too. That was the year they won the World Series. I knew that things were finally going to change.

I remember that night better than anything else in my life. The two of us sprinted through Central Park screaming: "THEY BROKE THE CURSE! THEY BROKE THE CURSE!" Sure, people stared at us and sneered: "Go back to Boston!" We didn't care. We were happy that we finally had a reason to annoy all the Yankees fans.

"_I can't believe they actually won!" Mush gasped._

"_You'd better believe it!" I panted as we slowed our pace. _

"_This means Jack and Racetrack can't tease us anymore!"_

"_I know! This is brilliant!"_

_We stopped running and bent over, our heads parallel to our knees as we caught our breath. I could barely get any oxygen into my system; I was too ecstatic. Finally, after five minutes of sputtering and coughing, we continued our conversation._

"_When we go to school tomorrow, what should we to bug everyone about this? Want to shave a "B" on the back of your head?"_

"_No way!" I said in disbelief. "I am not shaving my head! Besides, they'll probably cancel school after a miracle like this!"_

_Mush laughed. I smiled and fell to the ground, exhausted and thrilled. Mush collapsed next to me._

"_This has to be the best thing that's ever happened to me," I sighed contently._

"_Yeah…I don't know how my dad will feel about it though."_

"_Hmmm?" _

"_My dad hates the Red Sox."_

_I sat up, concerned._

"_So what? Everyone hates them here in Manhattan. I mean, everyone but you and me."_

"_Blink. He **really **hates them."_

_Mush sat up too, and I could sense urgency in his movements. I frowned and cocked my head slightly to the side. Mush and his dad had always been hostile towards each other. I never considered what would happen if his least favorite team won the World Series and his son was happy about it._

"_Is that why you like them, Mush?" I asked. "Did you get into the Red Sox to rebel against your dad?"_

_Mush nodded._

"_Oh."_

"_I should probably get going, too, actually. I shouldn't be celebrating."_

_He stood up, took his Red Sox hat off, and turned away._

"_But…Look…Wait a second."_

"_What?"_

"_Mush, do you have AIDS?"_

"_What the hell? No!"_

"_Good. Me neither. Come here."_

"_What are you gonna do?"_

"_God, I'm not gonna rape you or anything. What's your blood type?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Blood type. You know, A, O, B-"_

"_B. I have B blood."_

"_Even better."_

_Mush raised an eyebrow at me. I grabbed his arm and yanked him back onto the ground._

"_You are raping me, aren't you?"_

"_No!"_

_I chuckled and dug through my pocket. I scooped out clumps of lint, nickels, and scraps of paper until I found what I was looking for._

"_A needle?" Mush inquired. "What's the needle for?"_

"_Gimme your finger."_

"_Huh?"_

"_Do it."_

_He reluctantly extended his pointer finger, hesitation painted across his face. I smirked and pricked him with the needle, not hard, but just enough to draw blood._

"_OW! Why did you do that?" Mush shrieked._

_I rolled my eyes and did the same to myself. A drop of blood gleamed against my pale skin._

"_We're not doing that 'blood brothers' thing, are we?" Mush groaned._

"_Nah," I said, touching the tip of my finger against his. "We're going that 'Boston brothers' thing."_

"_You're mad, you know that?"_

"_Shut up. Let the blood mix."_

"_Christ."_

_A moment later, I lifted my finger and pressed it against my thumb so none of the blood would leak out._

"_What was the point of that?"_

"_You can't go home and celebrate because of your father, but you can still have the Red Sox in your blood."_

"_I guess…Thanks."_

"_You're welcome."_

Ever since that night, Mush and I don't care about looking like idiots or losers of loners. We're fans **together**, we're **two drops **of blood in a ocean full of Yankees. And although another shark hasn't come along (or a World Series win), it's okay, because we both have Boston in our blood. We both have B blood.


End file.
